


In these Frozen and Silent Nights

by AceQueenKing



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Feels, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-05 13:09:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16811281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: A collection of unrelated ficlets focusing on the Skywalker family. Written for Star Wars Advent Calendar.Ficlet 4: Owen and Beru watch from the doorway of their home as Vader returns to Tatooine to reclaim his son.





	1. [Vader & Luke + OFC] Gift-Giving Wookies

**Author's Note:**

> FIclet 1: Vader names Luke the sole beneficiary of his will. It raises some eyebrows in the Empire's legal department.

Asimiri Tazmin was not in a good mood, but the application sitting in her datapad threatened to take the cake and dump it straight into her disposal bin. She fingered the datapad and wondered which of the kaf-addicts below her passed it up the line.

 _Darth Vader_ , the applicant’s name read. _Final Will and Testament,_ the title of the document.

“What the hell?” She sighed. This was why Asimiri had gone into the legal department. The legal department of the empire was relatively quiet, and that’s how she liked it. She investigated case law for the Emperor's new edicts, argued on behalf of the Empire when required, and when the case called for it and they took one alive enough to make an example out of 'em, she prosecuted rebs. She didn’t _deal_ in probate, and even if she bloody did, she sure as _kriffing hells_ didn’t want to handle Darth Vader’s file.

There were rumors of what he did to those underneath him who displeased him. That secretary, Yeslin Ozzel, had sobbed for over a month over some uncle or other who allegedly was killed for coming out of lightspeed too fast; Asimiri didn’t think there was anything wrong with efficiency, certainly, but she certainly wasn’t gonna tell Darth Vader that. There were other rumors too, rumors that he’d killed officers for merely asking the wrong question or …well, the general scuttlebutt was that the man didn’t need a reason to kill.

She flipped through the paperwork. It was short, almost brutishly so. She scoffed. Whoever Vader had paid to put this together, they’d done a shit job. Just goes to show, you could be #2 in the empire and you still couldn’t pay for competent work.

Asimiri glanced at the name on the beneficiaries line and her heart stopped cold.

_I give all my tangible personal property and all policies and proceeds of insurance covering such property, to Luke Skywalker. I give all my residences, subject to any mortgages or encumbrances thereon, and all policies and proceeds of insurance covering such property, to hitherto named party, Luke Skywalker. My executor may pay out of my estate the expenses of delivering tangible personal property to beneficiaries._

Luke kriffing Skywalker?!

Asimiri whistled and put the datapad down. Rubbed her eyes. Sipped some caf. Re-read that section.

 _Luke Skywalker_.

This had to surely be some kind of falsification. There was no way that Darth Vader, second in line for the throne, would give his entire fortune — which Asimiri imagined was quite vast, thanks — and even less he would use such direct language, or only have one beneficiary. It was ridiculous – _ridiculous_!

“2-T, pull up Vader’s signature in your databanks,” she barked to her secre-droid. The droid dutifully wheeled it toward her, and she paled: the signatures were – identical.

“Son of a kriffin’ sith,” she swore in her office, then sighed, looking up at the ceiling. The standard operating procedure for anything …suspect… was to report to the person who was suspected of having their work falsified. Did that still make sense in this situation? Well, stars, who was she going to go to over Vader’s head? She fidgeted a moment; kriffing hell what did she have to lose? It wasn’t like she was going to talk to the man directly. She’d surely get his assistant, a quick yes or no, and then she’d be done with this meddlesome file.

“2-T, dial the E _xecutor_ ,” she said; the droid dutifully beeped and she adjusted her uniform as she rang out. In the bowls of the ship, someone quickly answered, and she stared into a bored looking man’s face.

“State your business, Legal Bureau Officer #3023563.”

 _A hello might have been nice_ , Asimiri thought but didn’t voice her idea. She wasn’t gonna pick on Vader’s business; she liked her neck just the way it was, thanks.

“I’ve got some questions on this will. I need to contact the petitioner.” She held out the datapad as if he could see it.

“Petitioner’s name?” The same monotone voice; she was pretty sure this guy was _real_ fun at office parties. Did the _Executor_ even have office parties? She tried to imagine Darth Vader with a beer and a little straw, and bit her cheek to avoid laughing. No, that thought was not gonna help. It was official, this assignment had finally driven her insane.

“Darth Vader,” she said, attempting to keep her voice level. It…almost worked.

“…Darth Vader?” _That_ finally woke the imperial cadet on the other line up, almost knocked his little helmet off, even. “ _Darth Vader?!_ ”

“Did I stutter?” She sighed. “Look, your busy, I’m busy. Can’t you just put me through to his office? An assistant or something?”

The man looked at her as if she’d grown another head and put the connection on pause. Kriff. Well. That could have gone better. She soothed her outfit down again out of habit, fussed with her hair, and then watched the holding dots as they went from green to red and then back again. Typical. She supposed if she was Darth Vader’s assistant, she wouldn’t want to pick up either.

She was just about to hang up when the holding screen finally cleared, then almost pressed the button anyway when she saw who picked up.

“ _Krssht._ This is Darth Vader. I’m told there were…questions from the Legal Bureau. Speak _quickly_.”

“Uh.” She said intelligently, then, more intelligently, she shook her head and went for groveling instead. “Yes, I’m legal bureau officer #3023563, I received some paperwork…forgive me, my lord, for taking up your time; I asked for your assistant.”

“I have no assistant. Your questions, officer.”

Huh, figures. Asimiri did suppose that must be a hard office to fill. 

“It’s just, this will, I…received a will for you, my lord, and it’s just — the beneficiary is listed as Luke Skywalker. The _sole_ beneficiary.”

Vader said nothing, crossing his arms. She waited. He waited. Asimiri felt her throat closing and stubbornly tried to swallow.

“And I just wanted to make sure that that paperwork was…right.”

Vader was silent again, and once more Asimiri wished, silently, that she’d just let this go up the line. But it was her ass on the line, and Vader — well, she was going to get the choke, either way, so she might as well make sure her paperwork was right.

“…It is correct,” Vader said finally. “Are there other questions?”

“….No.” She said, biting her lip. There sure as hell were (and her mind hit several without even trying: relationship, address, contact details)... but she wasn't going to ask those questions. “That will be all.” No sense of challenging a gift-giving wookie to an arm-wrestling match, as her father would say. 

The connection winked out and Asimiri sagged against her desk. Well kriff, she wasn’t going to ask. She stamped the will approved and sent it on up the ladder.

As long as her own throat wasn’t getting chocked, the dark lord could name whoever he wanted as his beneficiary. She’d done her due diligence, and now, she was good and ready for her second caf of the morning.


	2. [Vader & Leia + Bail] Green and Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet 2: Vader gets more than he bargained for when it comes to setting up Life Day security in the Senate Offices. Namely, a pissed off Leia Organa.

****Darth Vader detested the Life day celebrations in the Senate. Somehow, he had always wound up being there for it: mostly on the orders of Palpatine, who would smile in his unctuous little way and coo that his apprentice would simply have to bear watching the sanctimonious sons and daughters of privilege exchange presents that they bought with priceless blood and exploitation. He understood why he was here: punishment.

He resented it deeply. Given that this the sixteenth year in a row he’d been ordered to watch over the Senate Christmas party – because someone, somewhere, always had an assassination attempt against them that he’d have to guard against, to the point that he suspected his master was throwing out bounties for the sheer fun of it — he had no choice at this point but to stand in a corner, arms folded, and _wait._ He was in charge of security, too, which meant he’d had to show up several hours early to growl at people to do their jobs. Useless. 

This time, the allegedly soon-to-be-assassinated senator was Princess Leia of Alderaan, a particularly galling target. He had never felt comfortable with the princess; there was too much of _her_ in those bright, large brown eyes, so much that for a moment he had been hopeful…though it was, of course, impossible. She stared at him from across the office floor, barely visible behind her father’s meddling, but still: he could see the flash of hot anger from her, even if her father all-but-hid her from Vader’s eyes. As if he was something distasteful. 

Anger radiated through her to such an extent that he was almost amused by it; were it not for her morals, she would make a good Sith someday. She stepped out of her father’s shadow and Vader’s breath caught painfully in his throat. Her green robe was the very height of imperial corruption. Rich velvet in a light green, with a golden sateen sash that he suspected cost more than his mother had ever earned in her too-short life as a freewoman. Princess Leia Organa was a child of privilege, of wealth, and dressed the part. He had never liked the elaborate dresses the Senate required, the fact that she wore one that was so close to what _she_ had once worn — well, that was just another reason to resent this sorry assignment. He would not be surprised if Palpatine had, in fact, sent the wretched child the outfit just to mess with him.

Princess Leia continued glaring at him as she and her father walked over to him. “Are the security precautions — “ Organa looked so nervous Vader wanted to roll his eyes. Typical core-world senator; were it not his daughter in danger, Vader doubted he would have much a mind at all to worry about the desperate people in the empire. These senators — after _her_ , they were all the same. None cared for the state of the universe beyond their doors; only the military saw to the poor, the starving, the wretched. 

“Taken care of,” he said. “Your daughter will be safe, Senator, as long as she obeys the suggestions we’ve given her.” 

“Actually I – “ The princess opened her mouth and Vader looked at her, wishing for all the world that he could sigh with the miserable respirator. It was awful enough that she looked so much like _her_ , especially like this; to talk to her would be unbearable. “She will,” Bail Organa cut his daughter off, silencing her with a look that reminded Vader of nothing so much as Obi-Wan. He was not surprised the Senator was quite a handful; _she_ had been too. Though she had never had so wrathful an expression on her face. 

Vader could almost laugh at her; the little princess was all but sniveling in her distaste. One wondered how effective she could be in the Senate with that kind of face; she revealed everything she felt, in a way that was honest enough for Vader to almost respect it — if only she stood for something worth believing in. As if the senator could hear his thoughts, she scrunched her nose up just like _her_ , and for a moment the similarity was such that Vader’s respirator actually faltered. 

“Are you….” Bail Organa wisely left the rest of the question unsaid, and Darth Vader ignored it and refused to answer. Organa looked almost nervous, and he couldn’t help but feel like the senator had lost some of the bravery he had when he had been Alderaan’s senator himself. Nowadays, his concern seemed purely for his daughter — as if he was unaware as to how the girl had become the hellion she clearly was. 

He stared at the senator, discomfort brewing in his blood. There was something to the girl that made him feel uncomfortable; some part of his brain that was still seeing a dead woman in her place. Which the child, no matter how loathsome she was, did not deserve. 

“A bit of advice, Organa,” he said. “If you are truly concerned about security, get your daughter an outfit which will allow her a greater range of movement.”

“How dare you — “ the Princess said, face bright red. “I picked this dress out myself specifically so I could hide several blast— “ 

“We will take your advice under account, Lord Vader,” Bail Organa said, bowing slightly and shooting his daughter a look. “Come, child, I’m sure we can find you a nice suit to wear before the party starts.” 

“But — “ 

“Come,” Organa said, in fatherly sternness that was so very much like Obi-Wan that even Vader felt a little bit of resentment on the behalf of the girl. But at least with her changed into something less…evoking, he’d rest a bit easier. He still knew he would hate the rest of the party, though. As a Sith, it was his duty in a way. Leia Organa turned back at him one last time, glaring angrily as her father ushered her back into the halls, no doubt back to his official Senator offices. 

On her way out the door, she stuck her tongue out at him in a childish display that he couldn’t, entirely, hate. 


	3. [Vader & Leia] Solstice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter mentions some non-explicit character deaths. 
> 
> Ficlet 3: On Tatooine, a Solstice was a terrifying prospect. Two years after the death of Luke and all her friends at Jabba’s sand barge, Leia struggles to survive Luke's homeland. Vader pays her a visit during the summer solstice.

Leia awoke as Tatoo 1 crossed the horizon of the old hermitage’s one open window. She squinted as the hot light bather her face in an almost painful blast of sand. Stars, she could never understand Luke's hatred of sand until she had been marooned here.

Wearily, she cast off the softish cotton-cloth that she had been using as a blanket and picked up a small piece of slate. She added a mark to the wall and wearily contemplated how long she had been left here. Nearly the whole wall of Obi-Wan's kitchen was covered in marks; it had been almost two years now. The sun made her already sweat, and she committed herself to finishing her chores before the sun rose to full prominence. The solstice was dangerous on Tatooine, almost as dangerous as the Hutt who had brutally killed her friends.

She didn't bother to cry about it, not anymore, but it still loomed large in her mind. Leia thought of Luke, of Han, of Lando, of Chewie; all long gone now. They had been stupid to try to rescue Han; the Hutt had had far more resources than Leia had thought, and the Hutt's moral compass made Palpatine's look positively....well, righteous. She had lost them all in the battle on Jabba's bridge. She scrubbed down the counter in mute fury as the visions of her friend's deaths replayed in her mind, as they always did. Han and Chewie, flooding into the Sarlacc. Lando, who had died to make sure Luke and she could escape, shot over the door he'd held for Luke.

And Luke... she shut her eyes. _Luke_.

His was always the most painful, that he'd struggled for so long against the rancor before ultimately dying. She had managed to escape from that day thanks to R2's quick cut of the chain around her neck during Han and Chewie’s futile last stand. R2-D2 and C-3P0 hadn't managed to get out from under the Hutts thumb (and were, she knew, probably scrap at this point), but they had allowed her to run away.

And she had. She had not wanted to but she had, for the Rebellion.

And that, too, had all come to naught. She pulled a bit of flour out onto the now dry counter-top -- the last of her rations; after this, she did not know what would happen. Attempts to find a job under the table as an escaped slave was difficult and, in truth, it was only Jabba’s inattention to her that had kept her alive with the pulsing slave tracker still embedded in her neck. In a universe where everything she stood for had died, Leia Organa silently fried up a simple bit of food. It tasted like nothing but grit. She ate it anyway.

Truthfully, she wasn't sure why she bothered. The Rebellion had been brutally beaten at Endor and all her friends were dead. Her family was dead. For all she knew, she was presumed dead too. And sooner or later, she would be. Sooner or later, the Empire would find her. When the marks in the kitchen had measured only a few marks, she had dreamed of restarting the Rebellion, leading a glorious resistance to the fascists in power. Now she knew that dream was dead, and it was only a matter of surviving until the Empire found her.

But they had not, yet.

She dressed carefully in the dessert whites-- more accurately at this point, a beigeish grey – she had gotten attuned to wearing. She was just sliding Obi-Wan's old, long cloak over her back when someone knocked on the door.

Leia froze for a moment, then ducked down. Obi-Wan had been dead a long time before she and Luke had taken over the hovel. She hadn’t gotten a visitor since. Visitors on Tatooine were never a good sign.

Carefully she moved in a slow crawl to the window, narrowly leaning her head outside the window and hoping the oilskin drapes would hide her. Dread dwelled deep in her heart and pulsed outward in rapid, sickly beats; had Jabba found her at last?

What she saw leaning out the window made her heart grow colder. A black cape swirled in the sandy wind. She knew who it belonged to.

Darth Vader was waiting for her. And she should have been alarmed by it. Instead, she felt only a cold kind of peace in her heart. It would be over. As much as she detested the man, his saber would be quicker than any of Jabba's sick games.

He slammed his fist into the door again. Sand came off the top of the door, puddling underneath it in an almost comical pool. Her time had run out on the summer solstice. It seemed appropriate, in a strange way; the rising star of a dead movement dying in a blaze of pure sunlight.

She took a step towards the door; at the same time, Vader's fist punctured through the thin wooden door. She let out a small gasp as Vader groped blindly for the door's lock and found it, but Leia offered no resistance. The old Leia would have slapped his hand away and kicked the door for good measure. The Leia who had survived Jabba’s palace only watched as he opened the door and then he stared down at her, the sun all but blinding in contrast to the darkness of his armor.

"Princess," he said, as of this was their first meeting in days, not in years.

" _Vader_." She said his name like a curse but he did not balk, nor did she expect him to. After a moment, he took a step into her hovel, though he was tall enough to need to stoop to do so and she took some satisfaction in seeing that. 

He moved his hand into a lazy wave and the door shut behind him, leaving them alone in a mercifully darker hovel. She expected him to yell at her, to taunt her, to eviscerate her, but he did nothing of the sort, head simply turning from side to side, taking in her sad environment, what had no doubt become, in his mind, the pitiful after-life of the once-noble rebel.

"If you're going to kill me, kill me," she said and was satisfied that her voice came out in the pure steel that she'd honed as a rebel leader.

"Skywalker," he said. "Where is Skywalker?" Leia tilted her head, eyes widening slightly at the tone of the Dark Lords voice. There was an edge to it, a sort of tension and urgency that Vader so rarely exhibited.

"Luke? He died..." She said; Vader's fist closed and she heard a horrible noise; behind Vader, cracks splintered in her kitchen wall.

"How?" He growled; his voice was dark, darker even then when he had so roughly demanded the death star plans.

"Jabba. We were attempting to rescue Han after what you did to him. Jabba's palace was better defended than we had suspected. Things...went south. About two years ago.”

"Is that so?" She stared at him offering no details; she was too tired for that game, not anymore. He didn't probe her mind to find more, and after a moment, his vocoder made an odd sort of exhale; a sigh, she thought.

"I see. I had hoped…Did he...suffer?" He asked, the tone so tight she was quite certain she'd be dead within the minute. Figuring she had nothing to lose, Leia's natural fury arose. Did he want to make sure Luke had died violently, disappointed that he had not been the one to finally shove a sword through Luke's body? Even for Vader, this was cruel.

"Why do you care?" She barked. “Disappointed you couldn’t run your saber through him?” She leaned into his personal space and Vader’s hand clenched into a fist. She wanted for the choking sensation to claim her throat, but after a moment his hand fell.

“…It is of no matter,” he said, mercurial as ever. He looked curiously at her, head tilted, and she fumed, unable to come up with a good reply.

“What did you tell him, on Bespin?” She asked. “He wouldn’t tell me.”

“The truth.” Vader shrugged, as if that was obvious. Whatever it was, he wasn’t willing to tell her, but she knew it had been grave: Luke had called out for General Kenobi and his father for _a month_ after Bespin. Now it was simply another mystery, one that would not be solved. One of many, in her life. “Why did you stay?” he asked, in a tone gentler than what it had been a few minutes before. 

She turned around and pulled up her hair, heard him make an odd noise when he saw the divot of the slave-tracker. Strange leather fingers caressed her neck in a way that made her flesh crawl, then she heard the lightsaber ignite. She hissed in fury; she had known Vader was not a man of honor, but never had she thought him to be such a coward he wouldn’t kill her face to face.

“Stay still,” he commanded. The hot blade hummed near her skin for a moment, and she felt a dull but building ache as he placed it against her neck. It hurt, but she refused to scream for him and after a moment, she felt more than heard a strange hiss and the blade deactivated. She hesitatingly touched her neck and felt melted liquid metal leading out of a cauterized wound in her neck.

He’d freed her by breaking her chain.

“Why?” she asked. “Why would you do that?”

He turned away from her, turning toward the door. “I could not save him. He would…” He left the sentence unfinished, turning toward the door. “We are done here.”

“Wait! Where are you going?” She asked; it was an odd question coming from her, she knew, and it seemed he felt the same, as he stopped again in the doorway, turning back toward her. He had wanted to obey what he felt were Luke’s wishes, and there was a story there, and Leia would follow it. There was little else left for her, now.

“To render Jabba into _schutta;_ a justice he has long evaded.” He moved toward the door one more time, and Leia walked behind him.

“Do you want …help?” She asked; it was a strange offer, she knew, and stranger still coming from her, but she was not above taking help from Darth Vader when it came to pursuing vengeance for her friends. “I – the Hutt…” She closed her hands into fists. “He _should_ pay for what he did to Luke.” Not only to Luke, but to the others as well; she felt vengeance warm her heart, and for the first time in months savored the emotion well. 

He held out a hand and nodded, and she took it, blinking as she stepped into the solstice’s bright light.

If any sand person had looked out into the old man’s long-abandoned hut, they would have seen a strange sight: a woman dressed in old Jedi robes, holding the hand of a Sith as he led her back toward revenge. But no sand person had come out during the solstice; only the mightiest of Krayt dragons dared to walk in the burning sands.


	4. [Luke & Vader + Owen & Beru] Barbeque

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: There is one non-explicit character death mentioned in this chapter. :) 
> 
> Ficlet 4: Owen and Beru watch from the doorway of their home as Vader returns to Tatooine to reclaim his son.

Maybe my boy should have been surprised when the dark shadow of Darth Vader crossed his door, but he wasn't. Truth was, our son, the farm boy, looked not surprised at all. It was almost as if Luke had been expecting it, though there was no way that he could have predicted Vader’s arrival. Hell, if I could have predicted it, do you think I would have let him apply for that damned imperial academy?

Beru had gotten to me, and doomed us all with her pity; she was still a soft touch even after all the years we eeked out a meager existence in the desert. _What harm can letting him apply do?_ She'd asked _. We can't keep him here forever. Better safe in the enormous bureaucracy of the Empire than running and hiding from it from port to port. Sooner or later, he’ll have to make a living, and there is no livelihood in this farm, Owen._ And I'd thought, better our boy be an imperial than a slaver or a scoundrel. What were the odds he'd even look sideways at a new recruit named Lars? After so long?

Well I listened to her and I shouldn't have. She had only met the man who became Darth Vader briefly, but I had seen the new hardness and madness in his eyes when he was freshly back with my stepmother’s broken body. He had arrived smelling of blood. I knew then, what sort of monster he was and I never forgot it. The man would kill for what he felt was his. And what claim did I have to my nephew he couldn’t claim? What a damned fool I was, and what a damned fool Beru was, too.

And damndest fool of all, my nephew, my son in all but blood, who stared at Vader with neither anxiety nor trouble. He looked...serene. _Odd_. Luke was someone who could never stand still, but he was standing still now, almost smiling. He gave Vader a shy sort-of nod, like he was an old friend.

Now, I, Owen Lars, I am not a Jedi but I looked at him and somehow, I _knew_. I knew he recognized Vader, knew he had somehow expected this arrival on some level. Knew that somehow, despite all our attempts to isolate them from one another, they had found a forbidden way around it that none of us could quite understand. And I knew, painfully, that our time with our son was borrowed and was now suddenly becoming due.

"Owen," Beru whispered, and even though I was spitting mad at her, I held out my arm and she fell into it.

"It's alright," I said, even knowing it sure as kriffing wasn't and wasn't going to be right again.

"Should we go outside...?" She asked, her voice trembling. I rolled my eyes. What kind of match could we be for the second in command of the Empire? What could we do, besides traumatizing our son forever with our deaths at Vader's hands?

I shook my head and we just watched. Vader reached an arm out, waivered, dropped it. "Luke..." he said, his voice filled with such oddly modulated longing that for one brief moment I felt guilty for keeping his son from him. But only for a moment. When Luke's hand shot out to questioningly take Vader's, I wanted to do nothing but somehow kill him with my mind, just like everyone said Vader could.

"You came!" our boy said, and I felt nothing but righteous anger in me at the joy and longing in his tone. Foolish boy! And us too, damn us, we were fools, too. For a brief moment, I wondered if we had erred in following the Jedi's advice and not telling Luke of his father's true fate. We had done our best to make his birth family unappealing but he had always longed for them. No matter how much we told him that he was our son, no matter that we had given him our name and not his father’s accursed one.

But there were wounds, it seemed, that would not heal.

"Where is Ben?" Beru whispered to me in an urgent hush. I could feel her anger and knew my own frustration. The Jedi should have been here. He had been our entire plan of attack for what had felt like, until this very morning, a very far-flung potential fate.

I slowly moved away from the horror show in front of us, down the stairs and into the kitchen periscope where I could see the corners of our farm in each direction. When I turned toward the bluffs of Obi-Wan's hovel, I saw only smoke and I _knew_.

The old damned fool had finally bitten off more than he could chew, found a crusade he couldn't complete. He was dead now, his corpse little more than barbeque and ash.

He would not be coming to help us.

Beru must have seen his fate in my eyes when I took that long, slow walk back up the stairs, ‘cause she burst into tears without me saying a damn word. I held her tight and whispered sand-soft condolences into her cheeks, lies that said things would be alright even though it was obvious they were never going to be right again.

We watched as Vader grasped the boy's hand and tilted his head towards the doorway, where we cried out in plaintive weeping. He must have heard us, I do not doubt that.

His arm went to the cylinder at his side, but Luke shook his head. "Leave them, please. They..." He left his meager defense of us unfinished, but it was enough to make Vader stay his hand.

Vader looked to the doorway and I looked back, our eyes meeting. I shook my head at him as I held my wife. There was nothing I could do so I decided not to give him the satisfaction of seeing my heartbreak. After a moment, he turned away. Perhaps in his mind, this made us even. I had seen his mother taken away, and now he was stealing our son. Blood for blood.

"Very well," he said, and gestured toward the boy. "Come."

And he did. Damn him, he _did_. Luke turned back toward the house once. His mouth was pursed into a soft frown, but his eyes glittered with a dark promise that made me shudder. I knew then that we'd not be seeing him again, that we were as good as dead to him and he lost to us.

But Beru and I still watched them both as they went into the dark lord's shuttle, watched still as they went up into the sky, until they were nothing but a bright spot on the horizon and then...nothing at all.

"Owen...What...What are we going to do?" She asked. I could have blamed her then, for sending in the kid's scores, but I didn’t. We desert types have to cooperate or perish, and there was no point in throwing stones when it would only bury us both. Besides, we’d never know for sure if that was when he found Luke. Already I was thinking back to all the times the kid had been spacey, mind obviously occupied on something far away, and _wondering_ if it was really simply Luke’s daydreams in his own mind, then.

"We need to go to Ben's," I said, and she was already grabbing her shoes, springing into action as she always had. That’s why I’d married Beru; she’s a gentle soul, sure, but she’s no meek flower. She’s a woman of action, a survivor. "He deserves a funeral. Scavengers won't have got there yet. Maybe we can find some way of warning her parents, get her to safety."

We had never met our niece, but we loved her, even in her absence. We did not know what family she had been placed with, but old Ben did, and even if he had died, maybe some smoky trace of hope remained in that burning hut, if we were quick about it.

Beru drove the speeder as I watched, keeping my eyes alert for any trouble out on the road. That’s the tricky thing about living in the desert on Tatooine. The planet is full of monsters. But there are good people here too, and in the burning heat and acrid smoke, I just hoped that was enough. All we could do was keep fighting in our way, for as long as we could.

And if we wound up burning for it like old Ben, well...so be it. We made our choice twenty years ago when the old wizard crossed our door, and I was too stubborn an old fool to regret it.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Star Wars Advent Calendar](https://starwarsadventcalendar.tumblr.com/).


End file.
